


Crown of Love

by redluna



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Canon, And has morals that fit accordingly, But Eames isn't human, Canonical Character Death, I'm not really sure how to tag this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redluna/pseuds/redluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames has lived for far longer than anyone realizes, wearing many different faces, and he has always been chasing after one thing. The only snag is that Arthur never asked for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crown of Love

**Author's Note:**

> The original idea came from [here](http://velificantes.tumblr.com/post/77041183001/and-im-five-years-ago-and-three-thousand-miles) and [this mix](http://8tracks.com/solutionforreality/crown-of-love) helped push my mind towards the rest.
> 
> The title comes from a song by Arcade Fire, which is pretty much the theme song for this, I find. (It's on the mix!)

One of the dreadfully silly pitfalls of human nature is that, with a single look, a person can think they have come to understand all there is to know about another. It triggers some of the worst kind of assumptions to form, and the way that people view Arthur seems to be a prime example.

Everyone, for insistence, expects that his dreams are as crisp as the press of his suits and all constructed in the same precise fashion with which he preps his work area. The colors are expected to be bland, the scenes dull.

Even Ariadne—for all the other bright thoughts in her brain—is guilty of believing this to be true. Then again, the girl does look to Cobb with the gleam of a devotee, for all she challenges him, so that perhaps says all that needs saying about her judgment.

Eames, after all, has been inside of Arthur’s natural dreams; the ones he crafts for sheer pleasure instead of work, with or without the use of the PASIV. Each creation forms as a carefully constructed work of art, like the petals of a flower slowly easing open into something vibrant and beautiful.

Dwell in Arthur’s dreams long enough and you will come close to forgetting you aren’t actually in reality.

It was what endeared him to Eames in the first place. For, ever since that fateful day, decades ago now, the dream worlds of others have begun to pale in comparison. And Eames has always had quite the rich collection to chose from so, really, that’s saying something.

*

There was an issue that never occurred to Eames. Because it wasn’t as though he had spent the time waiting for Arthur to grow up being idle—that would have been torturous. He put it all to good use instead, flitting in and out of Arthur’s subconscious whenever he could and sometimes even those around him. He had come to learn everything one could know about Arthur, treasuring each bit of knowledge like a dragon guarding its hoard (he had been there when the last died, truth be told).

It had just never occurred to him that Arthur, by contrast, knew not a thing about him. Or that, when the time came, Arthur might not _want_ to.

Eames chose a good body this time round, he knew he had. The way that people, regardless of sex, stop to openly watch him go by speaks to this. Besides, call him vain (he’s been called worse) but he likes being handsome, no matter what flesh he slips into. Humans let beautiful people get away with far more than others.

None of that matters to Arthur, however. He feels violated, used, and isn’t afraid to show it. His recoil of disgust draws anger, of course, but the flicker of pain is a surprise. Eames wasn’t sure whether he could still feel such a thing.

He chases after Arthur all the same; it has begun to feel like his job. He sticks to the fringes, pretending to give Arthur space. He only breaks through the flimsy barrier that separated them when the Cobbs arrived to introduce Arthur to their wonderful new machine.

It wasn’t as though Arthur could truly have expected him to stay away from _that_.

Yet the boy scowls through his arrival, jealous of how astounded the Cobbs are by how Eames can shift form within dreams. He can do far more, of course, but it doesn’t do to tip your whole hand down to be seen. Besides, the Cobbs were already building their own dreams and showing Arthur how to do so as well. He shakes off any of Eames’ offers to show him more; something he feigns doesn’t hurt.

Arthur bemoans when the Cobbs start to push the limits of the dream, diving down steadily further, but Eames delights in it. He spends literal ages down in limbo to watch the life that they slowly eek out.

Mal is never entirely the same on their return. Those around her try not to call it madness right out, but their tone suggests it. There is a recognition in her eyes, however, when she looks at Eames, as though she is seeing something she couldn’t before. And, for that reason, Eames sometimes wonders whether Mrs. Cobb was truly mad at all, even after she takes the final plunge. Maybe her mind simply became open to far more than she was able to handle. No one knows better than Eames how a human mind can crack under such pressure.

Arthur resorts to physically lashing out at him for the first time—outside of a dream that is—at Mal’s funeral. He hauls Eames a way from where he had been laughing up his sleeve at Philippa’s innocent assertions that her mother was in heaven now. Out there, with the rain falling down like sheets, Arthur whams into him. 

The blood that pours out of him is brilliantly warm across his face and lines his mouth with the taste of copper, just like human blood should. Try as he might, Arthur doesn’t manage to punch the smile off of Eames’ face, but that can’t be blamed on lack of effort. Eames just enjoys having the rough touch of Arthur’s hands on him, the vivid flare inside that comes with actually _feeling_ something far more than he should.

He never tells Arthur that he might have been able to free the Cobbs from limbo, if he had been inclined to actually try. If he hadn’t blamed them for the way Arthur could see no others but them and for how even a mortal could see their souls were bound.

It was never wise to linger on the past. Best to keep moving forward…

*

Eames was upset—beyond so—when Dom appeared in Mombasa. He could only have gotten Eames’ location from one person, yet that person had decided to hide behind the skirts of another. He had thought Arthur braver than that or at least too much the perfectionist to risk someone bumbling up the pitch.

He had enjoyed all the little twists of human emotion he got to experience through an extended stay in this body, but, at times like these, he wished to flee into the body of any recently deceased he could find.

And of course Dom wanted to try inception. There was nothing in the realm of impossibility that the man didn’t want to go shoving his grubby hands into. The way his eyes gleamed hungrily when Eames claimed to have tried it before—that wasn’t a complete lie—showed it all too clearly. 

Dom might insist that he was doing all this for the sake of his children, and that was at least somewhat true, but what mattered most to the man was simply the exhilaration of _doing_ it.

The promise of Arthur gets dangled in front of him like a shiny new toy and he rises wearily to the bait. He gets Dom back for it later anyway because there was no way he was truly going to help him lose the tail when there was the promise of such a marvelous chase.

*

Arthur wants him to stay away from Ariadne. He has taken the girl under his—increasingly battered—wing, determined to escort her through the process like the Cobbs once did for him.

Except it’s Ariadne that searches Eames out. She wants to know things outside of the rigid box that Arthur has constructed for her. And, like the clever thing she is, she knows that Eames is the person to show her.

Arthur has been turning down his tricks for years, but he gets to show them to Ariadne and the rush of joy on her face when she gets one right is almost half as good. It’s even better to watch her use them on others, especially for the look of horror it gets from Arthur when he realizes where such tactics have come from.

Arthur thinks of Ariadne as some sort of vestal virgin, a truly innocent receptacle for knowledge. It’s a pleasing image, but not what the girl is. Because Eames has been in her dreams, watched them change from lovely strokes of experimentation to unceasing eroticism with barely any prompting from his part.

But, as ever, he lets Arthur keep his sweet delusions.

*

Robert Fischer makes Eames think that perhaps it might have been easier if, ages ago, he had slipped into the mind of another little boy instead. Fischer is so eager to please, after all, grateful for every scrap of attention he gets. The way that he clings to the snake in the grass—“Uncle” Peter—is proof enough of that.

He folds for Eames easily in dreams, looks upon him as if he would bestow the world for a single kiss.

Arthur always becomes particularly wound up whenever Eames flaunts such excursions before him. Eames likes to believe it’s because he’s jealous and perhaps, in some way, he is. He has had Eames as his private possession for so long that it must rankle to have to share.

*

Eames had known that Dom was planning something treacherous. He had just been too lost in the fun of it all to pursue it any further. Whatever it was could be dealt with, after all, surely.

Except then Saito is bleeding out on the warehouse floor and all Eames can think is how that could just have easily have been Arthur. That it still could be, if things truly do go south. And he has never wanted to rip out Dominic Cobb’s throat more.

His dedication on the job is for Arthur, no one else, which might seem a surprise. Limbo, as it stands, is his playground, so if Arthur dropped he could find a way to keep him forever. Except this hasn’t been the first time he has considered such an option, and, in the end, the imagined outcomes are never as pleasant as they seem at first glance. 

He could keep Arthur, yes, but it would be like keeping a flower pressed between the pages of a book. It would fade away eventually and lose all its former shape and fragrance until it was nothing more than a memory of something once so pretty.

Eames has always been a greedy beast. If he can’t drink in every part of Arthur then he might go mad at long last, for all the shine will have been scratched from his prize.

*

“Security’s gonna run you down hard.” It’s a wonder that Arthur has dropped down to set Eames’ line himself. The cool press of his fingers is a lovely thing, along with the pinch it brings. (There might be more than a few wires crossed in Eames’ brain.)

“And I will lead them on a merry chase.”

Oh, yes, Eames didn’t doubt that. He only wished he could stick around to watch.

“Just be back before the kick.”

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.”

Arthur’s lips try to twist up into their near instinctual derision, but there’s a softness there that rounds it out into something far too close to a smile. 

*

No one goes to limbo in the end. Or, at least, no one _stays_ there. 

Eames doesn’t understand why that should spring relief inside of him. Perhaps it’s because Dom will be too wrapped up in his children now to interfere in the lives of others, but somehow that doesn’t entirely fit. At least not until Arthur comes over to him, dropping his bags down on top of Eames’ own scant luggage on the carrier.

“You can’t expect others to matter,” he blurts out. “That’s not fair. I can be fond of them just a little—” Ariadne was proof enough of that. Maybe even Yusuf was. “—but when it comes down to it you’ll always mean more. I can’t let anyone in besides you.”

And that was enough, wasn’t it? To be able to hold what existed for a heart when it came to a being like Eames. Surely Arthur had to understand how great a sacrifice that was. 

“You’re still an unrepentant bastard.” Arthur reached out, hands settling on either side of Eames’ face. “But I wouldn’t wish you on anyone else. At least you’re something close to human when you’re with me.”

It’s not quite the answer Eames was hoping for, but the kiss is what he has been waiting since his creation for.

*

It isn’t exactly a happy ending. Not everything gets wrapped up nicely with a pretty ribbon.

Arthur doesn’t ever bother to come completely clean about why he’s let Eames in at last. It might be that somewhere, deep down, he has finally let himself care for the creature. But, at the same time, it could be because he knows that, so long as Eames stays locked to him, he will die a human death.

Eames, however, will take what he can get. He’s too tried to search for another, beginning the process all over again, or maybe just too content. He gets kisses now, after all, and much, much more. And Arthur’s true mind—his real self—belongs just to him.

It’s not perfect but it’s _theirs_ and that was all Eames ever wanted.


End file.
